This past weekend, I went to New York City with some of my best friends. We’ve been planning this trip the entire year, and if we weren’t intentional about it, it wouldn’t have happened. We are all very busy. When you’re busy, you don’t make time. But, we decided last year that we will make the time every year. We will book the trip. We will eat the delicious food.

New York City. There’s a certain energy about the city that never really stops moving—it pulls you along whether you’re ready for it or not. But in the chaos of bright lights and loud streets, I found something unexpected: stillness.

I realized it as I sat at dinner with my friends Jessica Abel, John Janawicz, and my husband, John. We had planned our trip around meals—intentional, indulgent ones. Each restaurant we picked wasn’t just about eating; it was about being together, experiencing something we’d share long after the plates were cleared. The table was filled with delicious food, but more importantly, it was filled with laughter. The kind of laughter that comes from being completely there.

At Masa, a three-star Michelin sushi restaurant, I didn’t take a single photo—not because I didn’t want to, but because it was against the restaurant’s policy. And for the first time in a long time, it made me fully realize what it feels like to be present without the crutch of a camera. I sat there, appreciating every bite, every perfectly crafted piece of sushi. I soaked in the artistry, the care, and the experience without trying to document it.

But outside of that dinner, I did use my camera. I took photos of the moments I didn’t want to forget: the twinkling holiday lights at Rockefeller Center, the larger-than-life billboards in Times Square, the perfect latte art at La Cabra and the candid moments with my friends. I wanted to capture the weekend so I could hold onto it, and I don’t regret that. Some memories deserve a snapshot.

Here’s what I learned, though: the camera isn’t what makes a moment memorable. It’s being there, fully in it. At Masa, I didn’t have a photo to remember the afternoon by, but I still remember the details—the quiet hum of conversation, the way we leaned into each course, the laughter shared across the table. I didn’t need a picture to make it unforgettable.

It’s all about balance. Photos can enhance our memories—they remind us of moments we might forget or help us tell a story to someone who wasn’t there. But there’s a difference between using the camera to add to the experience and using it to distract from it. Sometimes, the best moments are the ones you let yourself live fully, even if no one else ever sees them.

That’s the thing about presence: it doesn’t always come easy. We’re wired to multitask, to document, to think ahead. But when you let go of the need to record everything, something shifts. You start noticing what’s actually happening. You notice your friends’ expressions when they burst out laughing. You hear the music playing in the background of a crowded restaurant. You see the details—like the way the steam rises from your coffee cup on a cold morning walk through the city. You feel everything more deeply because you’re not splitting your attention.

One of my favorite moments came as we were walking with no real destination in mind. We wandered through the city streets, the cold air biting at our faces. We stopped for a second to take in the holiday decorations lighting up the buildings, and it hit me how lucky we were to be there—to be together. That’s another gift of being present: gratitude. Spontaneous, unplanned moments often become the most treasured ones because you aren’t chasing them—you’re just letting them happen.

New York taught me that intentionality matters. Whether you’re pulling out your camera to preserve a memory or putting it away to soak in the moment, what’s important is why you’re doing it. Are you capturing for the sake of remembering, or are you missing what’s right in front of you? Sometimes, we document because we’re afraid to forget—but what I learned this weekend is that the memories that truly matter find a way to stay with us.

The truth is, it’s not about New York City. It’s about what I learned there. Life moves fast. We’re constantly being pulled in a hundred different directions, and it’s easy to go through the motions without really feeling any of it. But when you stop—when you actually stop—and allow yourself to just be, the moments become clearer. They become richer.

I came home with a camera roll full of photos. And I’m so glad I did. But I also came home with memories that don’t need a picture to stay alive—like that lunch at Masa, where I felt completely present without distraction.

So, here’s my takeaway—the lesson New York City gave me: Be where your feet are. Be in the moment. Take the photo if you want to. Capture the lights, the laughter, the beauty of the moment. But also, let yourself put the camera down. Let yourself laugh without distraction. Let yourself eat without interruption. Let yourself wander without a plan. Because sometimes, the best memories are the ones that live in your heart, not just in your camera roll. And the unplanned moments you didn’t expect are often the ones you’ll treasure the most.